And Yet They Still Cry
by cheddarbiscuit
Summary: He knows to expect it. He knows it will happen. But it still hurts so much.


And yet they still cry.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

Summary: He knows to expect it. He knows it will happen. But it still hurts so much.

* * *

Stylists don't see it like he does. They are chosen for their talent, and they are used only once, because by then they are old hat. The Capitol moves fast. The stylists make so much money on the side during the games, that it does matter if their tribute dies, and if their tribute wins they are popular so long as their fashions are in the spotlight. They get close, their tribute dies. They move on. Sure, there is a little hole in their heart where the kid once was, but it mends with time, only to pop up when they look back.

It's just how it is. They are only there once.

But someone is always there.

Haymitch is always there.

Effie is always there.

Always. They want to look away but they just can't. They just can't do it. There is a feeling of pride and dread when a tribute from District 12 makes a kill and there is a feeling of despair and sorrow when they, themselves, are enviably slain.

And god it's terrible when it happens. He knows to expect it. He knows it will happen. But it still hurts so much. He just lays there, wallowing not in despair but complete hopelessness. It's so crippling that he can't even lift his hand to take a drink.

So he's sober.

And god it hurts.

He's leading kids into the meat grinder. How can he look at himself?

He can't, and that's always why he looks like crap, so when he looks in the mirror, his face is obscured by grizzle and shadow. And neither can she. That's why she wears the wigs. And the suits. And paints her face an inch thick. So when she looks in the mirror, she can't see herself.

But, as much as they try, it does not work. The kids die. The illusion always breaks.

So then the tears come, great dolloping tears that fall from his newly-sober eyes and into his messy, straggled beard. And they come for Effie, too. He caught it once, quite by accident. He had gotten up in a rare moment of motivation to get a glass—a bottle—of whiskey, and he had heard shameless, loud, sobbing ahead of him.

That was the night that Effie Trinket had finally cracked.

And tears became one bottle of whiskey, and one bottle became two and the tears had been traded in for bitter, drunken laughter. _Remeber that one... Remeber this one... Remeber the time... Those two were just babies._ Then the tears came again with a third bottle. And then the third bottle becomes a desperate anchoring embrace and quiet whimpering sobs like dogs licking their wounds.

And then morning came.

And neither one spoke a word of it again.

But then the next year came.

And they died again.

And tears became one bottle of whiskey and one became two and then morning came again, and another year and it just kept _going_.

Then these two come.

He tries not to learn their names. He tries to distance himself, but Effie keeps using them.

Katniss and Peeta. Katniss and Peeta.

They show promise.

The girl is strong and proud and does not care about much except winning and gone home and protecting her little sister. She scowls. She glares. She does not want to cooperate but she does because she wants to win. The boy is madly in love with her, and while he does not want to die, he knows it will be okay if she lives. He smart. He smiles. He plays the fool and does exactly what is instructed because he wants her to win, even if that means she believes he's just playing the game.

Not the Hunger Game, exactly. The other game. The game of charm and money. The game Effie plays. She plays it accidentally, and she hates herself for it.

They don't die. It does not matter what gets thrown at them, or what happens. They don't die. He watches, swelling with pride every day as they don't kill, but they still live. The game makers do their best, but they don't die.

And damn, they're good. Maybe she's doing it on purpose now. Maybe she's seen how evil it is and she's just trying to be evil back. Maybe. He does not know. He's drunk and it all goes by in a blurr.

And then they've won. Together. They put on such a damn good show that the rules have been bent. They've both won and it's over and _District 12 won_!

Then?

Then they take it back.

She turns around, holds out the poisoned berries, and Peeta does the same. Neither one says a word for a while, and then Katniss' lips move, "One..."

Peeta's freehand tries to take hers once, but she is too far away.

"Haymitch, I'm proud. Haymitch."

He does not see her. She is just a voice beside him, choked, crying. Then, she is a presence on his hand, tightly grasping his own.

They've going to do it! It would be so rebellious and so powerful and so insanely moving that he seriously considered killing the other one if they backed out. But no. No, they look into each other's eyes and Katniss really does look like she's truly in love.

It's over. District 12 has won once more. Once more. It's over. This time, they didn't lead two kids to their deaths. This time, it really does feel like a victory.

And yet they still cry.

* * *

That's one a oneshot. That's not a drabble. But what ever its, its over one thousand words so that means its substantial enough to post.


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